


wasn't born good

by erintoknow



Series: Aria-Rough Drafts [29]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Animated GIFs, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, F/F, Gender Dysphoria, Other, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 14:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19111105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: Ariadne Becker is not having a good time.But more specifically in reconciling 'being an instrument' and 'having sexual desires.'





	wasn't born good

**Author's Note:**

> Contains Multimedia elements in the form of 2 Animated GIFS with source images and texts from Date Nighto's We Know The Devil.

 

> __
> 
> _it’s always the hands, entwined fingers binding palm to palm. your heart is pounding and you know – you_ know _she’s going to….her other hand runs over your hip, fingers hooking into the band of your skirt. parted lips brush your forehead and_

You jerk awake. You’ve fallen asleep at your desk again. Bad. You have ~~two~~ three lives to lead. There’s no time for something as dangerous as sleep, and these dreams the last few months… these are new. You almost would rather have the nightmares. Almost.At least you know how to deal with those. But this? You put a hand over you heart, run it down over the slight swell of your chest. They’re still here. You’re still here. You’re still you. 

 

> _you click your tongue and give steel the finger guns as you walk backwards, away with julia and themmy. you turn and clap hands with both them, excited to do something as mundane and normal and boring as clothes shopping. swallowing down the fear running through your gut with a fervent prayer to be cool, to be normal._

When you first started taking the pills, god that feels like a lifetime ago, it killed your drive dead. A blessed exorcism. The promise of wresting that void back, ended up being one of the only things that could keep you going by the end. Getting your hands on those two bottles again was the first thing you did upon returning to Los Diablos, before anything else.

 

> _someone smiles at you as you try to catch your breath. her hand ghosts your arm as she leans over and you don’t turn your head quite fast enough. your face warm, blood pulled to the surface everywhere like high-tide and you can’t take her interest not you not this shape, you shove her away and of course she doesn’t can’t understand._

You never trusted a doctor to do bloodwork, so your dosage has always been something of a combination of guesswork and internet research. Month after month, you’ve experimented with different options and aside from messing with your already, and you can be honest with yourself here, _delicate_ , emotional state, you remain demon-haunted. It’s only gotten worse with your debut. You don’t want to think about

 

> _the way her hair gathers and slips between your fingers, running your hand along the side of her face, the way her mouth twitches and catches your hand with her own, pulling you in she_  

You pull your legs up against you, still sitting in your desk chair. You could break the back doing this, but you don’t care. Your thighs press against your breasts through layers of shirt and bra and jeans, and even that’s too much, more than you deserve. Because you’re a thief, a liar, a con artist, a grifter, a child in powered armor kicking over the older boys’ toys. You touched _her._

 

> _julia stares at you in the elevator, for once in your lives she gets to be the speechless one. fuck you’ve wanted to do this for years. but you’re close, too close, you can feel her breath on your lips and your heart only hurts worse as you pull away_

Under the make-up and the padded clothes and the pills and drugs, you’re just… you are not supposed to touch, you are not supposed to actually get involved. Rule number one of any reconnaissance mission. But you can’t stop yourself. Time and time again. You can’t stop ruining everything. Why are you so bad at this?

 _You_ touched

 

> _herald groans as you grind your boot against his chest, shoving him down against the mess of metal and plastic. they_ replaced _you, with_ him _. well, that’s fine, that’s what you do with broken tools, you get a new one, so now you’ll break him – and a fist slams into your back. you scramble to your feet and there’s julia ortega yelling at you to get away, yelling at you not to_ touch _him, calling you scum._

You _touched_ her. Tracing patterns in your leg, you press the nail of your finger through the fabric against the skin. You’ve already given up so much, so many different definitions of good. You were born broken; you could never be a good tool, could never be a good hero. Can’t even be a good person.

 

> _it’s always the hands, splayed out or entwined, cupping or grabbing, rubbing or holding. drawing you in, or you pulling them, your very skin a vortex bound in orange chains. you want out, you want to die again.but you’re already too hollow, stretched too thin - more scar tissue then anything even capable of dying_

You’re tired of trying. You don’t even want to. You don’t understand, why would They even make a tool able to feel something like this? A live wire run through you, and you don’t want to think about where it leads. you just want this to be over with, to be gone and emptied out. you don’t want to think about your shortened breath, or the heat in your face, or what your hands are doing, or how nice it actually feels, wrapped up in words you never learned.

>  

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
